I know the path well.

2004

She was my groupmate. This was the only time we were ever groupmates. I was almost 15 yet my mom had thrown a tantrum the night before about this visit—It wasn't safe, and what if she had a nasty family—I repeated over and over that I was not alone, but she would not relent. I snuck out anyway.

God she was—is rich. Her home was larger than any I had been to. My hand-me-down running shoes had felt intimidated to even step on the soil of their lot. The gate was massive with protective spikes on top. It was like a fancy cage, protected by the pointy ends of the black iron bars.

For how large the house was, there was no one but Yanyan in there.

2008

We were in the same college org. There was a meeting, I think, and we were in this house. We left before dark.

... She ran after me to say something.

2010

I started following her on facebook. She followed me back, though I never posted anything. Most, if not all, of her images were in her home. It looked the same as it did 6 years ago, as it frozen in time.

This has appeared in my dreams. My feet are light and I am floating to the gate of her subdivision. I pass through it, into heaven. I know where to turn.

Her gate is locked. The tall spikes on its ends greet me, welcoming my presence.
WALL